


The Museum of Hyrule

by rynling



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ancient Relics, Contemporary AU, F/M, History and Memory, Illustrated, Monumental Architecture, Politics and Power, Reincarnated Enemies, Shadows of History, Some Porn Mostly Plot, Zelda & Midna Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rynling/pseuds/rynling
Summary: Zelda is a policy analyst with political connections in high places. Ganondorf is a museum curator who possesses evidence of a hidden history that Zelda only suspects. Together they will bring Hyrule's dark secrets to light.





	1. A Cooler Shade of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Curator Ganondorf, as drawn by the fantastically overpowered [Ganondorked](http://ganondorked.tumblr.com/)!   
> A larger version is [on their Tumblr](http://ganondorked.tumblr.com/post/152861073443/finished-commission-for-pocketseizure-professor).

The outside air was sweltering, and the sun was brighter than it had any business being this early in the day. When Zelda stepped through the heavy glass doors at the entrance to the museum, the cool darkness was a welcome relief. A docent behind a desk greeted her and held out a map, but Zelda waved it away. She only wanted to find a place to sit down out of the heat.

The museum had just opened, and the large rotunda that served as the central hub of its wings was still empty. Dim rays of light shone down through the clouded clerestory windows, creating small rainbows as they refracted off the water of the fountain at the center of the room. Several benches surrounded the fixture, and to Zelda's eyes they looked heavenly. The sound of her bootheels was amplified by the acoustics of the domed ceiling as she walked across the room, and the thud of her leather satchel echoed across the space as she sat down and dropped it beside her.

Zelda's office, which specialized in public policy analysis, had been contracted to provide an expert in the field of migrant labor at a special hearing of a council committee, and Zelda had been designated as that expert. She'd been headhunted by the firm even before she finished her graduate degree, and in the two years since she accepted their offer she had proven herself to be competent and professional. She handled a number of high-profile assignments, but this was the first time she had been called on to do official government work at this level. It hadn't gone well.

She prepared binders of data and a succinct and bullet-pointed précis, and she delivered her report with clarity and authority – or, at least, she thought she had. The hearing room was small and stuffy, and the nine parliament members who were her audience were seated on a raised platform, looking down at her with blank faces. She had to speak from her stomach in order to project her voice, and she worried that she had come off as shrill. When she finished her prepared statement, an older man with tufted white hair and sharply pointed ears – a man whose face she couldn't connect with a name – told her that there would be no questions. She remained in place, the object of nine silent gazes, until she realized that she had been dismissed. It took all of her willpower to keep her back straight as she collected her materials, wished the committee a good day, and left.

Zelda assumed the hearing would last longer, so she had nothing else scheduled for the next several hours. Surely no one expected her to return to the office immediately. Despite only having been in the Parliament building for an hour, she was exhausted, and she couldn't bear the thought of getting back on the subway, which would be just as claustrophobic and oppressive as the hearing room. The National Museum of Hyrule was only a few blocks away, and Zelda found herself heading for it almost as if her feet had a mind of their own.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

Zelda was jerked away from her thoughts by the voice of the docent who greeted her at the entrance. The woman stood several paces away, her hands folded in front of her.

"Is there a problem?" Zelda responded, immediately on guard.

"Of course not, dear," the woman said, smiling. "I apologize for bothering you, but one of our curators is giving a tour, and I thought you might be interested. The topic is 'Hyrule and the Immigrant Experience,' and the curator is quite knowledgeable, despite... Well. Let's just say he's a character. You seem like it might do you good to get your mind off things, begging your pardon."

"No, it's fine," Zelda said, noting the kindness in the woman's eyes. She sincerely doubted that the sort of museum curator who had enough leisure to give public tours had anything to teach her, but it was true that she could use a short break. She would listen politely to what this man had to say, and she could even make a game of not interrupting or correcting him. If he really was that eccentric, maybe she could joke about him with her colleagues later.

"Where does the tour start?" she asked.

"Right at the entrance to the Southwest Wing," the docent answered, indicating the direction. "In fact, the curator is late, but he should be here any minute."

"Thank you for letting me know," Zelda said as she got to her feet and picked up her satchel.

The woman dipped her head in acknowledgment and headed back to her desk. Zelda sighed as she walked toward a small standing sign that had been put out to indicate the beginning of the tour. No one else was there. She couldn't imagine who would be here right as the museum opened, especially on a weekday. It was rare that she had time to kill, and she didn't know what to do with herself. She took her phone out of the front pocket of her bag and began scrolling through her mail. Already she had more work than she could possibly finish during normal business hours, but she couldn't bring herself to go back to the office. She envied the curator who had the luxury of showing up late to his own unattended tour.

There was a cough in front of her, and Zelda looked up from her screen to see a man standing beside the sign. The first thing that struck her was his sheer size. He was a full head and shoulders taller than her, and his collared shirt was unbuttoned at his neck, which seemed too thick to accommodate a tie. His ears were short, and his eyes were a light amber. Along with his height, these features indicated that, despite being male, he probably had Gerudo heritage.

"Are you here for the tour?" he asked. He spoke in a pleasing baritone, and his voice had a melodic quality she hadn't expected from such a large man.

"I, um, yes," she responded as she put away her phone, suddenly struck by the awkwardness of the situation.

"It seems that you're the only one," he said, looking down at her with an unreadable expression.

"It's... fairly early in the morning, isn't it," she offered, hoping to dispel her agitation.

The man nodded. "I'm obligated to give a certain number of tours every month. I schedule them early so that no one shows up."

"I'm sorry?"

"That was a joke," the man said, completely deadpan.

"You know, I just came in here to get out of the heat, and..."

"No, no," the man sliced his hand through the air, cutting her off. "It's been some time since I've actually given a tour. Fate must have brought you here, so we may as well oblige."

Zelda let out a quiet laugh at the strangeness of the man's suggestion. He appeared to be her own age, but he spoke like someone much older.

"Fate is a strong word," she said.

"That was also a joke," he responded, a corner of his mouth turning up in a hint of a smile. "But we have the place to ourselves, and a tour might prove amusing to us both. The museum is rather nice when it's not filled with tourists and children. I hope I can persuade you to join me."

Zelda found herself charmed by the easy flow of the curator's words, and she felt ashamed at her earlier notion of his presumed ignorance. _This could be interesting after all_ , she thought.

"It would be my pleasure," she said. "Although I should tell you, I've recently done a bit of work on immigration in Hyrule. It's an odd coincidence that that's the subject of your tour. I mean..." She paused to consider her words, wondering why she was bothering to explain herself to him. "I don't mean to sound presumptuous, but I hope you won't treat me as a complete novice."

"Of course." He shrugged. "It will be nice to talk with someone who already has a solid background. Since it looks as if it will just be the two of us, I hope you won't hesitate to share your expertise. Shall we begin?"

"By all means."

"Allow me to introduce myself, then. I'm a curator here, a specialist in Gerudo culture and artifacts. My name is Ganondorf."

The syllables of the name rolled off his tongue, and Zelda had a vague inkling that she had heard it somewhere before.

"That's quite an old-fashioned name."

"My mothers were quite old-fashioned people."

 _Mothers? So he is Gerudo_ , Zelda thought.

There was a moment of silence before she realized that he expected her to introduce herself as well.

"I'm Zelda," she said simply. She had found that mention of both her mother and father's family names tended to provoke a certain response in people, and she had no desire to discuss politics, especially not with the sour taste of the disappointment of the committee hearing still lingering in her mouth.

"That's quite an old-fashioned name," Ganondorf responded, his lips once again curving into a slight grin.

"Touché. I suppose I should say that my father is quite an old-fashioned man."

"We are well met, then." His smile broadened, and Zelda smiled in return. Although she didn't know what to make of the curator, a warmth had bloomed in her chest, and she felt at ease, almost as if she had been greeted by an old friend after a long absence.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to see?" he asked her, gesturing down the corridor of the museum wing.

A quick chain of thoughts flitted through Zelda's mind. As she did the research for her report, she had noticed a number of odd points in the data. Hyrule had always employed legions of competent bureaucrats, even when it was still a monarchy. Since the country's borders were clearly defined by geography and carefully patrolled, and since immigration was so meticulously monitored, she assumed that it would have been easy to trace the ebb and flow of people entering the country. There would always be smugglers and refugees and people who fell through or exploited the cracks in the system, of course, but the archival records seemed to have been deliberately obfuscated. Numbers didn't add up, and dates didn't match. Some names were repeated with a ridiculous frequency, while others were redacted or excised. Oddly enough, these errata didn't seem to be random, but it was difficult to identify patterns in the jumbled mass of letters and numbers, which were written in illegible cursive and archaic abbreviations. Still, the records pertaining to the Gerudo were by far the most perplexing.

But what would this curator possibly make of such an observation? Zelda decided that it was best not to ask.

"Just the regular tour will be fine, thanks," she said.

"Very well." Ganondorf clapped the palms of his hands together lightly. "If you'll follow me."

He proceeded to guide her through the wing, stopping in front of displays of richly adorned Zora tunics, tarnished Goron jewelry, risqué Anouki postcards, and even an old train carriage emblazoned with swirling Lokomo designs rendered in paint that had chipped but not faded. Zelda was surprised to find that Ganondorf was a skilled storyteller. She listened, fascinated, as he employed colorful and precise language to sketch out the characters and personalities that lived and breathed between the written lines of history. She suspected he was offering her anecdotes that he would never relate to a larger group, and she found herself beginning to speak with him as one specialist to another. He took her comments and observations in stride, never breaking the rhythm of his pace through the exhibits.

There were no windows inside this wing of the museum, and Zelda lost track of the passage of time. Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred to her that the tour had extended well beyond its allotted schedule, but this did not bother her in the slightest. She was genuinely enjoying herself, and she could tell that Ganondorf was as well. He stood close to her and spoke softly, and he didn't seem to mind when she leaned toward him to catch his words.

They eventually came to a small room in a secluded corner where a carved wooden shield was mounted on a display pedestal. None of the overhead track lights were shining directly on it, but Zelda could still discern a fine layer of dust on its outer rim.

"This is an interesting piece," Ganondorf said. "The Deku once used these shields in games involving projectile deflection. The pursuit of such pastimes became difficult as Castle City expanded and grew more crowed, but it was still traditional to present a shield to newborn child, preferably one that was carved to depict an event occurring in year of the child's birth. Since most of these shields were used for their intended purpose, very few of them have come down to us with their carvings intact. This work is therefore valuable both for the felicity of its preservation and for the high quality of the artistry it demonstrates. If you look closely – "

Ganondorf stepped forward to touch the shield, tracing the ridges of the woodwork with his index finger.

"Are you supposed to do that?" Zelda asked him, only half joking. Following the path of his finger with her eyes, she realized that she was tempted to touch the carving herself.

"Such things are meant to be appreciated," he answered. "And besides, it's not as if there's anyone else here. He grinned and glanced over his shoulder before looking back at her. "Go ahead. The grain of the wood is as smooth as velvet."

He was standing very close to her, and Zelda could smell the light smoky odor of incense on his suit jacket. As she hesitated over whether to follow Ganondorf's example, she considered taking out her phone to check the time. It was probably already well past her lunch break, and she should probably be getting back to her office, but at the moment she didn't care. She tentatively touched the shield.

"The carving depicts the earthquake of 1908," Ganondorf said as she ran her fingers over the twists and whorls of the stylized smoke rising above the roofs of Castle City.

"You must mean the earthquake of 1897," she corrected him without thinking.

"Not at all," he responded. He stepped closer to her, and Zelda's breath caught in her throat as he reached out and lightly placed his hand over hers. This felt like the most natural thing in the world, and she leaned into him, letting him know that he had not made her uncomfortable. He sighed almost imperceptibly as she pressed her shoulder against his chest, and she felt a small jolt of delight race through her. Before she could reflect on what it meant, Ganondorf continued speaking.

"You can see here that there are catfish grotesques ornamenting the eaves of the roofs," he said, his voice calm and measured. He guided her hand with his own so that the tips of her fingers brushed against the designs he indicated. "These only became common after the 1897 earthquake. In addition, you'll note the short hairstyles of many of the women milling in the streets. The fashion mimics a popular illustration featured on the cover of _The Red Lion Gazette_ in 1906, which was widely reproduced on cards and posters throughout the following year. And see how wide the street is, even though the scene occurs in a residential quarter. These neighborhoods were rebuilt after the first quake in the late 1890s. You almost never see depictions of broad avenues like this before then."

Children's voices tumbled in from the hallway outside, and suddenly Zelda noticed that she could hear the murmur of conversation from the adjoining room. Ganondorf lifted his hand from hers and stepped away from her.

She turned to face him. "Those are all astute observations, but there's still something weird going on with the date," she said. She was unsure of whether she should mention her research. Usually, if she offered evidence that contradicted someone's understanding of the world, she wouldn't be taken seriously, as if both she and her work were inconsequential. So far Ganondorf had respected her opinions, however, and she felt she could trust him. "You see," she pressed on, "the last record of a Deku birth in Hyrule was immediately after the earthquake in 1897. There was something about the incident that caused almost all of them to leave, perhaps the fear of fire. By 1906, there wouldn't have been any Deku children in Castle City. I have summaries and a few facsimiles of the records with me now." She patted her satchel.

Ganondorf gave her an appraising look. "It's very... interesting," he muttered, "that you would have noticed that. Most people walk right by this display and never – "

He was cut off by the shriek of a small child. Both he and Zelda were startled by the invasion of the sound into the intimate space they had created. After a moment passed, they laughed. Their eyes met. As if it were the obvious conclusion to their conversation, Ganondorf bent down and kissed her.

Zelda smiled against his lips, and the moment seemed to stretch out in a swell of elation until a burst of rough voices clattered across the walls from around the corner of the adjoining room. Ganondorf quickly raised his head and straightened his back. Zelda could feel her face burning as she blushed. Chance encounters and stolen kisses only happened in stories, but nothing could be more real than the man standing next to her.

There was a vibration in her satchel. Embarrassed, she slipped her phone out of the front pocket. She had gotten a text from her boss, which read simply, "Where are you." Zelda winced as she checked the clock display on her home screen. Three and a half hours had somehow passed since she entered the museum.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized to Ganondorf, tucking the phone back into her bag. "I didn't realize how much time had passed. I have to get back to work."

"Of course." He nodded, a faint flush of color spreading across his face. "Let me see you out."

They didn't speak as they walked through the main hallway of the Southwest Wing, but at several points Ganondorf brushed the back of his hand against hers. Zelda felt as if she were floating. She couldn't help but smile at the quiet secret they shared.

"We never talked about that shield," Zelda remarked when they were once again standing in the rotunda. It seemed that Ganondorf was about to say something, but then a violent fit of buzzing burst out from her satchel. It was probably her office. If she didn't pick up or call back immediately, there would be trouble. As she retrieved her phone, Zelda fished out one of her cards and offered it to Ganondorf. He wrapped his hand around hers as he took it, and she savored the cool touch of his skin before breaking away and rushing back out into the bright summer sunlight.


	2. Repository of the Empire

Zelda tapped her fingers on the desk next to her keyboard. She had been typing steadily all day, but she was running out of steam. What did writing these reports matter, if barely anyone read them? She stared at the blinking cursor on the white space of her screen. All these letters, all these numbers, all this data – how could it possibly represent actual lives?

Zelda's phone buzzed next to her hand. She had few friends outside of work, and she didn't get many texts. It was probably her roommate Midna asking if she would grab something to eat on her way home.

She picked up her phone and looked at the notification on the screen. She apparently had a message from an unknown local number. Her breath caught in her throat. It could only be one person. She could feel butterflies in her stomach as she opened the text.

"Hello Zelda," it read. "This is Ganondorf. It was a pleasure to meet you yesterday."

"How quaint," Zelda muttered to herself. "Proper punctuation and everything."

Her phone vibrated again with another message: "Would you be amenable to meeting me again? I have something to show you that may be pertinent to your interests."

Zelda smiled. Who wrote texts like this? It was charming, in a way.

"Sure," she typed. "Are you still at the museum? I can be there in half an hour."

She sent the message without thinking, only realizing a second later how eager she was to see Ganondorf again. As she stared at her phone, waiting for him to respond, she realized something else. It was already half past six in the evening, when most people would have already gotten off work. It was entirely possible that he had been trying to invite her out to eat, and she had embarrassed herself with the assumption that he would still be at his desk.

Her phone buzzed in her hand with a new message. She opened it immediately. "I'm always here. I would be happy to let you in. The building is magnificent after hours. I think you'll enjoy it."

Zelda felt a blush creep over her cheeks, happy that he had been thinking of her. She hadn't asked him what he wanted to show her, but she had to admit that it didn't particularly matter. She assumed he was simply following up on their conversation yesterday, but surely he wouldn't write something like "the building is magnificent after hours" if he were merely expressing a polite professional interest. Zelda exhaled slowly, amused that she was analyzing a man's text message like she was still in college.

"All right. I'll see you soon," she wrote back.

His response was immediate. "Excellent. I'll be waiting."

Zelda switched off her screen and bit her lip. Her heart had started to race. "Oh sweet Nayru, I have a crush on him," she said softly, laughing to herself. She saved the document she'd been working on and turned off the monitor of her computer before standing and stretching. She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked to the window of her office, studying her faint reflection in the glass. _I look fine_ , she assured herself as she smoothed down her hair.

She didn't want to brave the subway at rush hour, so she caught a taxi. As she watched the city scroll by, townhouses making way for government buildings, she wondered what Ganondorf wanted to discuss with her. The carved shield he had shown her yesterday was an anomaly that didn't fit into the flow of Hyrule's history, but her own research indicated that there were many such anomalies. To give but one example, there were the multiple sets of work visas issued around the turn of the previous century. Dozens of entry documents at a time would be granted to groups of people with startlingly similar names and identical vital details: Gorek Eldin, Goron, male, age 21; Gorec Eldin, Goron, male, age 21; Goreck Eldin, Goron, male, age 21; Gorex Eldin, Goron, male, age 21, and so on. Someone simply scanning their eyes over the list might not notice that something strange was going on, but there seemed to be some sort of deliberate obfuscation of the records. But why? Hyrule had always been an open country, and she didn't understand who would benefit from erasing the identities of the people coming across the border.

The taxi left the valleys between the modernist structures housing bureaucratic offices and merged onto the broader streets lined with the monumental architecture of the ministry buildings. They were getting close to the museum, and Zelda's heart hadn't slowed down in the slightest.

After returning to work yesterday afternoon, she had been focused on her obligations, and she stayed late to ensure that the day's business was concluded. As soon as she got home and finally had time to herself, alone in her room while Midna did whatever she did on her computer all night, her thoughts immediately turned to Ganondorf. She'd fished around in her satchel, looking for his business card, only to realize that he hadn't given her one in exchange for her own. She entertained the notion of running a search for him, but she was too tired to bother. Instead she closed her eyes and remembered the lines of his face and the feel of his hand against hers.

She had gone to sleep thinking of him, and he had been the first thing in her mind when she woke up. The museum curator, impossibly large but impeccably dressed, aloof yet eloquent. Had he really kissed her? Why was she so drawn to him? She usually had no interest in men, but for some reason he felt familiar to her, as if this weren't the first time they'd met.

The taxi pulled up to the curb of the turnaround at the foot of the back entrance of the museum. Zelda touched her transit passcard to the reader and climbed out into the muggy air of the early evening. The sidewalk still emanated heat from the harsh afternoon sunlight. As the taxi drove away, she adjusted her satchel on her shoulder, ensuring that it wasn't pulling the neckline of her blouse to the side. Holding her back straight, she climbed the steps to the museum entrance.

When she reached the upper terrace, she saw that Ganondorf was waiting for her just behind one of the glass doors. She waved to him, and a smile crept across his face. She found herself grinning in response. He held the door open for her, and as she passed by him on her way inside she caught the mellow scent of old paper.

The foyer on this side of the building wasn't as grand as the rotunda on the side she had entered yesterday, but it was still impressive, with two decadent fin de siècle staircases spiraling up to the entrances of the museum's wings. A gorgeous chandelier of stained glass globes was suspended between them, and light streamed in from the windows above the entryway doors. The docent stations and public benches were deserted, and the space was completely silent except for the sound of her footsteps.

"Thank you for inviting me," she said, turning to face Ganondorf.

"I'm happy you came," he responded, and he did appear genuinely pleased. Unlike yesterday, he was more casually dressed, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. When he held out his hand to her, she noticed that the edges of his palms were stained with ink, and it amused her to think that there was someone in the world who still wrote with an actual pen. When she took his hand, assuming that he meant to shake it, he instead bent down slightly and raised her fingers to his lips, kissing her knuckles as if she were a princess.

Her cheeks burned. "You don't have to do that," she murmured.

"Of course. My apologies." He squeezed her fingers lightly and dropped her hand. "I had a feeling you'd come to this entrance, and it's fortunate that I was able to meet you here. The offices are just above us, which saves us a walk through the galleries. But if you'd like to look around..." He gestured toward the far end of the spacious room, where several stairs led visitors up onto the slightly raised floor level of the older portion of the building. Zelda had been taken here on several field trips while she was a child, and she remembered being told that the museum had been renovated several decades ago. It was strange to think about a place like this having its own history, as every detail of its architecture conveyed a sense of timelessness. Zelda wondered if Ganondorf ever felt oppressed by the static weight of the atmosphere.

"I don't need another tour," she said, "but is there a scenic route we could take to your office? I don't often get to stroll around empty museums."

"A scenic route?" Ganondorf paused to consider her question. "I suppose I could take you up the stairs on the other side of the west wing's lower gallery, which is where we keep our period furniture. It's mostly empty even during museum hours, but the view of the garden from the stairs should be nice around this time of day, if you'd like to see it."

Zelda smiled. "That would be lovely."

Ganondorf turned toward the gallery and offered her his arm. It took Zelda a moment to understand his gesture, but once she did she was delighted. If any other man had performed such an outdated custom it would have struck her as insincere, but Ganondorf had an easy grace that made it seem perfectly natural. Zelda threaded her hand through the crook of his elbow.

"After you," she said.

"Watch your step," Ganondorf cautioned her as they began walking. "There's a difference in the levels of the floor here. When they built the new wing, they weren't able to lower the ceiling of the underground archives. Those rooms were constructed to survive everything from fire to flood, so the floor of the old wing ended up being a few inches higher."

"I didn't know that," Zelda admitted as they stepped over the divide together. "How long have you worked at the museum?"

"Not long," he answered. "I was offered a position after I left grad school, where I wasted far too many years of my life. It didn't suit me at all. I was lucky to have a cousin who works as an archaeologist here. She gave me the opportunity I needed, and I took it."

"I see," Zelda said. She had no fond memories of her own time in grad school. She had started looking for a job even before she decided on the title of her thesis, and she had been hired by a blind review panel at her firm almost instantly. Still, despite her degree and qualifications, she knew her coworkers talked about her behind her back, saying that she had only been offered the position because of her father's connections.

"I'm sure you would have found a place regardless" she told Ganondorf. "I've never met anyone better suited to work in a museum," she added, and it was true.

"It's kind of you to say that."

Zelda felt Ganondorf's muscles tense. She wondered if she had said the wrong thing, but then he lowered his arm, his hand finding hers. Their fingers fit together as neatly as if their hands had been made as a joined set. _How strange that I only met him yesterday_ , Zelda thought. They continued walking in companionable silence.

The gallery they passed through displayed furniture from the last century, with a few older pieces mixed in for comparison. Set against the eggshell white walls and screened from human touch by thin cordons, the chairs and settees and dressers and armoires looked lonely, almost like animals in a zoo. As she ran her eyes over the curves and flourishes of the furniture, Zelda couldn't help but think of her father's townhouse, which was filled with antiques. He was a fussy man, always insisting on the superiority of their ancestry. He liked to tell her and everyone who would listen that they were descendants of Hyrule's royal family, as if that meant anything.

"I'm not sure this gallery is my cup of tea," she admitted.

"I'd have to agree with you. It's like a tomb for forgotten things," Ganondorf remarked.

"It's kind of creepy, when you put it like that."

"It won't help to learn the story of how the museum came to acquire the items in this collection. About a decade into the last century, right around the time of the war with Labrynna, the city officials decided it was time to modernize the west district. It turned out that tearing down all the old houses was a major part of this project. The residents were chased away by grossly inflated property taxes, an injustice exacerbated by deliberately neglected infrastructure. When the banks bought or foreclosed on the houses, many items formerly in private collections found their way here. There are a number of famous paintings hanging on these walls that the museum could never have afforded otherwise."

Zelda knew exactly what Ganondorf was referring to; she had seen it in the census records. The west district had historically been the home of the city's Gerudo merchants and artisans. She wondered if the history of the museum's collections intersected with Ganondorf's own family history, but it was an awkward subject, and it seemed rude to ask.

They continued to walk together until they reached the end of the hall. Even before the staircase came into view, Zelda could see the light streaming down from the huge window set into the wall above its landing. The strong red rays of the sunset cut through the dimness of the gallery and pooled onto the floor.

"The Zora have a myth about carp that holds that they can turn into dragons if they manage to climb a certain heavenly waterfall," Ganondorf told her as they crossed into the sunbeam. "The ironwork adorning the banisters here is meant to illustrate that story. As we climb the stairs, you'll notice that the style of the carps' representation changes to reflect the evolution of Zora art over the course of the past century."

"Does the carp become a dragon at the top of the stairs?" Zelda asked.

"It does not," Ganondorf replied, "but the stairway leads directly to the hall housing the curators' offices. I'm not entirely certain that the artist wasn't making a joke about the fearsome tempers of some of our number."

 _The fearsome tempers of some of our number_. What a curious turn of phrase. Zelda reflected that Ganondorf spoke as if he were writing each of his words carefully on a piece of stationery. He didn't have any trace of an accent, but she wondered if perhaps Hylian weren't his first language.

The large window on the staircase landing faced directly west over the museum's garden, whose paths were adorned by large sculptures, from bronze renditions of heroic public figures to more modern grotesques and abstractions.

"The layout of the garden is modeled on the inner courtyard of Hyrule Castle," Ganondorf said. "There was a vocal outcry when the building was converted into government offices. No one objected to the outer walls coming down, but people wanted the gardens to become a public space. The compromise the city offered was to create a replica, and the statues and fountains were transferred here. Supposedly there is still an inner garden that has been left intact in one of the older sections of the former castle, but I haven't seen it myself."

"That's interesting," Zelda replied. She had often visited the inner garden Ganondorf spoke of when her father brought her along with him to work. She had no desire to reveal who her father was, however, and Ganondorf seemed proud of the garden here at the museum. It would be cruel to tell him how beautiful the original garden in the castle truly was.

Perhaps sensing her agitation, Ganondorf put a hand on her shoulder and turned her away from the window. He continued climbing the stairs, and she followed him to the second floor. It was much less grand than the entryway, obviously designed for more utilitarian purposes. Ganondorf led her to a narrow hallway, which was lit by a skylight running along its length.

"These are the curators' private offices, but not many people are here at this time of day," Ganondorf explained. "After the crowds go home is when we're able to work on the exhibits. The librarians leave at closing time, so some of us take the opportunity to go down into the archives. It's usually much more lively than it is now."

"But this is nice," Zelda responded. "I like the atmosphere."

What she didn't say was that she was excited to be alone with him. As they walked down the hallway, she told herself that she would listen to whatever he had to tell her and then politely excuse herself. She didn't fully understand why she was so drawn to this man, and the intensity of her attraction felt dangerous, as if she couldn't trust her own heart. Ganondorf was clearly attracted to her as well, but encounters like this just didn't happen in real life. Was there something about the time and the place of their meeting that was special? If they had met under different circumstances, would she have come under the influence of the same magnetic pull?

"It's as if I'm seeing something secret," she mused.

"Then I should apologize that this secret is so mundane," Ganondorf said, coming to a stop in front of a door with his name engraved on a panel on the wall next to it. Zelda noticed that his last name, Dragmire, was highly unusual, and she wondered what its origin might be.

"There's not much magic that happens up here," he continued. "We still use fax machines, if you can believe it."

"Fax machines? I didn't know that there were any that still worked." Zelda laughed. "I guess this is a museum, after all."

"Indeed." Ganondorf smirked as he unlocked the door and held it open. Zelda stepped inside his office, which was narrow but long. A wooden table covered in folios and stacks of paper was pushed into the corner next to the door, and a desk flanked by bookcases was positioned farther inside, where a dusty window shed light down onto an ancient radiator. Between the bare floorboards and the cast-iron lamps set into the naked plaster of the walls, the room was like something from another era.

Zelda heard Ganondorf close the door behind her. She turned to find him gazing at her intently.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said.

"It's my pleasure." She met his eyes. "I wanted to see you again."

He took a step forward, and she knew she should move to let him brush past her, but she was unable to look away from him. He reached out and lightly touched his fingers to her cheek. She covered his hand with hers and pressed his palm against her face. The touch of his skin felt so natural and so right. Somehow, it was if she had known this would happen.

He seemed hesitant and unsure of what to do next, so she broke the silence. "Kiss me," she said.

"That's not why I brought you here, I swear it." Ganondorf pressed the pad of his thumb against Zelda's lips. "I would not presume to take advantage of you."

"I know. You seem like an honorable man. Kiss me anyway." She ran her tongue along the crescent of flesh under his nail, and he closed his eyes and sucked in his breath.

"I pulled some manuscripts from the archives," he muttered in a choked voice, "and I thought that you..."

Zelda shrugged her shoulder to allow her satchel to drop to the floor and then ran her hand up Ganondorf's arm to his bicep. Great Din, he was massive. How did someone like this become a curator? In another age, he would have been an archaeologist, wresting artifacts out of the earth and stuffing them into excelsior-filled cedar crates that he would carry on his shoulders. He would have been an explorer, hacking down vines with a machete on his way to excavate a forgotten temple. Perhaps once he may have been a general charging on a destrier, or even a king issuing commands from a sandstone throne. But now he was nothing more than a glorified clerk in shirtsleeves, his powerful hands relegated to the mundane work of cleaning and cataloging. It seemed like such a waste, yet the mere thought of his fingers performing delicate tasks on priceless materials sent a shiver down her spine that went straight to the fork of her legs.

Since he wouldn't bend down, she slid her hand to his shoulder and pulled him to her as she stood on her toes to meet him. "Zelda," he whispered, and she ran her tongue along the fullness of his bottom lip. His body twitched under her palm and his mouth opened slightly as he exhaled. She leaned into him, and the tip of his tongue met hers. The muscles of his arms and the lines of his face were hard, but his tongue was pure softness. She caressed it with her own, teasing him as she tasted the spice of his mouth. He kissed her tenderly as he slowly found his rhythm in the dance of their lips and tongues. All of Zelda's attention was focused on the heat of Ganondorf's skin, and she lost her balance and stumbled.

He caught her and then, to her immense surprise, lifted her from her feet. He pinned her between the wall and his body, supporting her with his arms so that her eyes were level with his. He didn't give her any time to consider the situation but immediately kissed her again. With his tongue on her lips and his hands on her ass, Zelda felt herself melting into him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. The feel of the broad planes of his chest turned the peaks of her breasts into hard points that were quickly becoming unbearably sensitive. Zelda raised a hand to Ganondorf's face and stroked his beard, imagining what it might feel like between her thighs.

Suddenly a sharp blade of anxiety cut into her mind, chilling the warmth of her skin against his. Underneath Ganondorf's cologne Zelda could smell smoke, and in her mind she saw black clouds of ash rising into a gray sky. She could feel the tremors of an aftershock vibrating through her body, and her ears rang with the phantom screams of the people trapped within the walls that had surrounded Castle City before the earthquakes brought them down. Although this had happened more than a hundred years ago, the vision was as clear in Zelda's mind as if she had experienced it herself.

Her nerves were flooded with a surge of panic. By the goddesses, what was she doing with this man? She had only just met him, and she'd come to talk with him about serious matters. In what world was the possible doctoring of old immigration records a prelude to this sort of behavior? What if somewhat at her office knew what she was doing? What if her father found out? It would be the end of her, she wasn't allowed to –

"Zelda. Are you all right?"

The smooth baritone of Ganondorf's voice brought her back to reality. There were no screams, and no tremors. The smell of smoke was gone. There was only Ganondorf, holding her in his arms and looking at her with an expression of concern.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," she apologized. "This isn't very professional."

Ganondorf set her gently down on her feet and stepped back. Despite herself, she couldn't help glancing at the hard ridge in his trousers.

Ganondorf looked away from her and turned to face his desk. "Perhaps this isn't the best place to talk," he muttered. "Listen, can I invite you out somewhere? There's a great Rito place just up the street, and..."

Zelda's face burned with shame. They would go out to dinner, and then what? Would they have a drink? A few drinks? Would he suggest that they continue their conversation at a hotel bar? Would they go back to his place? Midna was always telling her that she should get out more, but she wasn't at liberty to enter into a relationship with just anyone. She had once had a date with a Goron boy, who had asked her out to a freshman dance at her high school. It was an innocent sort of affair, just two classmates being friendly, but her father sat her down and gave her a stern talk afterward. A person in her position, he said, needs to be seen with the right sort of people. It wasn't a race thing, he assured her. If the Goron had been an ambassador's son, that would have been perfectly acceptable, but someone from a mining family that was upper middle class at best was beneath her. What would he say about a museum curator? Her father's opinion was so stupid and petty, and yet...

"I should probably leave." Zelda sighed. It had been a long day, and her thoughts were running away from her.

"Right." Ganondorf walked to his desk and picked up a manila folder perched on top of a pile of books. "So I've, uh..." He cleared his throat. "I've prepared a file for you that you may find interesting. You can call me if you want to talk more."

He turned back to her and gave her the folder. Zelda could smell the freshness of the ink on the photocopies as she took it from his hand.

"You have my number, right?" he asked, his eyebrows raised as he looked down at her.

Zelda smiled in response. Of course she had his number. Ganondorf seemed so powerful and in control of his every action, and this small show of nervousness was endearing. He was a bit strange, but at least he was human.

"I'll show myself out," she told him, opening the office door and stepping into the corridor. "We'll be in touch."

Ganondorf didn't say anything, but he stood in the doorway and watched her as she walked away. Zelda could feel his eyes on her back. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation. As she gripped the file tighter against her side, she wondered what she had gotten herself into.


	3. All the Stories Not Told

The council member raised a supercilious eyebrow at Zelda. "You will be sure to tell Prime Minister Nohansen about our conversation, yes?"

"Of course, sir. I'll be sure to give my father your regards."

Zelda flashed a bright smile, but the old man had already turned away from her and started to talk to someone else. As she stepped away from the conversation, she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass covering a display of old rupee coins. Her sleek black dress fit perfectly, and not a strand of her hair had come loose from the updo that had taken her stylist almost two hours to construct. Her sapphire earrings glittered brilliantly, and her makeup was immaculate, but her face was clearly tired. She looked simultaneously much younger and much older than she actually was.

Perhaps this was an effect of the pretentious and stuffy atmosphere of the event, a charity fundraiser held in the museum. Zelda assumed that all the proceeds from the tickets went to a good cause, but it had not been made clear what that cause might be. The actual purpose of the evening was to form and solidify connections, as a new rotation of parliament members had just been inducted into office. The parliament floor was nothing more than a stage; this was where the real business of government took place, in lavish venues that were accessible by invitation only.

 _I can't deal with this nonsense anymore_ , Zelda thought.

She left the smaller gallery and proceeded through the main hall of the museum's east wing, avoiding the clustered groups and pretending not to see the glances and waves in her direction. The buzz of conversation faded behind her as she moved farther away from the party. She eventually reached the central rotunda where she had come to get out of the heat a week ago.

Although she was more than comfortable working with people in a professional context, Zelda disliked large and informal functions like this, where the only goal seemed to be for older men to drink and make grand pronouncements regarding the future of people other than themselves. Her father had dragged her along with him to numerous events like this when she was younger, and they never became any easier to bear. She had no desire to attend this particular fundraiser, but her boss had asked her to, and she had agreed without thinking when she heard it would be held in the museum. There was no sense in concealing the truth – she wanted to see Ganondorf.

She hated herself for the way she'd treated him. Why did she leave his office? Was she really so stuck up that she thought she was too good for him? Was she really so high and mighty that she didn't want to risk being seen at a hotel bar with a museum curator?

When she'd gotten back to her apartment, she left the file Ganondorf gave her on the living room table. It was certain to be messy business, and she needed a cold shower to clear her head. She washed her face over and over again, her mind running through the same set of thoughts in the chilly water: Who is this man? What am I doing? When will I see him again? She finally emerged from the bathroom to find Midna sitting cross-legged on the floor, the contents of the file fanned out on the carpet in front of her.

"This is some heavy shit, Zel," she'd said, not even bothering to look up.

Midna was a policy wonk of the highest order. She came from a good family, which was all that mattered to Zelda's father when he'd signed as a guarantor on their lease several years ago. More importantly, Midna was a freshly minted PhD who had already joined the ranks of the best and brightest. She was a member of several think tanks that worked behind closed doors and soundproofed walls in the brightly painted townhouses of the university district. Despite pulling in an unimaginable salary, she seemed to feel no urge to move out of their apartment. Zelda valued her company, and she valued her opinions as well.

"Why don't you break it down for me while I get dressed?"

"You mean you haven't seen this?" Midna asked, slapping the back of her hand against the photocopies she was holding. "Where did it come from?"

"Pants first, questions later."

"I don't think you need to bother, because this is going to knock your pants off."

"I'll wear an extra pair then," Zelda yelled from her bedroom. "Tell me what we've got here."

"Where do I even begin? You know how there were two earthquakes a hundred years ago? Most people are aware that the Gerudo were blamed for the fires that spread after the first one, but get a load of this – what I'm looking at are corroborating documents saying that there were royal orders for the soldiers to spread those rumors and then organize civilian groups to hunt the Gerudo down. Fuck me, there are pictographs and everything."

Midna paused and then called out, "You still listening?"

"Yes, I'm listening!" Zelda answered as she quickly pulled on her Sheikah-style athletic pants.

"And it doesn't end there. So the Gerudo got kicked out of the west district, and a bunch of people were brought in for the post-earthquake reconstruction. This is where shit gets real. I've got another bunch of documents here that suggest that these people were purposefully unregistered so that they could be severely underpaid and then conveniently made to disappear when they were no longer useful. I'm holding a bunch of etchings and diary entries that seem to suggest that they were no better than slaves. And meanwhile, full citizenship was being revoked for other groups who were labeled as undesirables so that they basically became nonentities. Did you know there were actually still Deku in the city during the second earthquake? This is wild.... Hey, Zelda?"

"Yeah, I'm still listening," Zelda responded as she walked back into the living room. Her head was spinning, and she felt unsteady on her feet. Instead of trying to navigate through the sheets of paper spread out across the floor, she sat down on the couch behind Midna.

"So this is the craziest thing," Midna said, passing a copy of a photograph of a woodblock print back to Zelda. She took it but didn't immediately understand what she was seeing. There seemed to be a large monster rising above the roofs of the city, which was wreathed in stylized flames.

"I'm not so good with turn-of-the-century Hylian, but it seems as though the second earthquake was blamed on some sort of monster, can you believe that? People genuinely believed it was real, and that it was unleashed on Hyrule by the Gerudo. Putting this together with everything else, I would say that this is more propaganda to drive the remaining residents of the west district away. Judging from its poor quality and what looks like heavy wear around the edges of the printing block, it seems like this was produced quickly and distributed on a wide scale. It's strange that I've never seen anything like it before."

Midna turned to Zelda with a concerned look. "Farore give me courage," she said. "Who put this together?"

Zelda was about to answer her, but right at that moment her cellphone rang from her bedroom. She knew exactly who it was, but she couldn't bear to talk to him, not with this paper sea of destruction right in front of her.

"It's them calling now, right?" Midna asked after studying Zelda's face for a moment. Zelda nodded.

Midna frowned. "I don't think you should answer it."

Zelda nodded again. The ringing stopped, but it immediately began again. Zelda waited with Midna in silence until it was over.

The two of them had ended up spending the night passing the photocopies back and forth, trying to make sense of them. Midna eventually retrieved one of her laptops from her room and ran extensive searches on databases Zelda had never seen in an attempt to find records and duplicates of the documents. Despite her considerate skill, she was unsuccessful.

At a certain point Midna went to the kitchen to brew some coffee, and Zelda got up to check her phone. It had indeed been Ganondorf calling, and he'd sent her two text messages as well.

"I assume you've looked through the file," the first read. "I must apologize. I meant to discuss this with you, not upset you. Please forgive my actions."

Zelda's heart stopped as she read the second message. "I couldn't help myself. You do something to me, Zelda. You set something inside me on fire."

She couldn't bring herself to respond to him that night, and she slept so late the next morning that she had to rush to get to work. Her office was busy, as usual, and she didn't have time to text him during the day. With every hour that separated her from their encounter in his office, it seemed increasingly strange, like something that hadn't actually happened. If she had never met Ganondorf, and if he had never kissed her, then the contents of the folder he'd given her could not be real.

And yet Zelda had searched for him at the party. It wasn't unreasonable to think that a curator would attend a fundraiser held at the museum, but she hadn't seen him. She hadn't realized how disappointed this would make her, as if the entire evening was a waste. Soon the small groups of people that filled the galleries would begin heading off to their own private events, and she didn't want to be caught sitting alone in the rotunda as they left.

 _I should really get back_ , Zelda thought as she drained her drink.

"You look like you've had a long evening," a familiar voice said from behind her. Zelda turned, and Ganondorf stood beside her, holding a champagne flute filled with sparkling water.

"Ganondorf." She smiled at him, concealing her surprise at how quietly he had moved as she accepted the glass. "How lovely to see you."

"You look beautiful," he said.

"And what brings you here to flatter me on this fine evening?" she asked him, taking a sip of water. She had been talking for hours, and she hadn't realized how thirsty she was.

"Did you not expect to see someone like me at an event like this?"

Zelda looked up at him. He had on a red shirt with a seafoam green tie under a dark suit. The colors were garish, but he wore them well. It was odd that she hadn't seen him during the past few hours, especially given how tall he was.

"I wouldn't think that anyone comes to these things unless they have to," she remarked dryly.

He smirked. "I thought you'd be used to this, Zelda Nohansen."

"How did you know?" Zelda felt a chill pass through her. She used her mother's maiden name on her business card precisely because she didn't want to be associated with her father's family.

"It's not like it's a secret that you're the prime minister's daughter. An alias won't put off a dedicated researcher."

Zelda was annoyed by his casual admission that he'd done a background check on her. Had this been before or after they met the second time? Was this where his 'you set something inside me on fire' line had come from? Did he really think that would help him get closer to her father?

"Well, I did some research on you, too," she snapped at him. "Apparently you didn't leave grad school after all. What I heard is that you got kicked out."

To her surprise, Ganondorf laughed. "That's a kind way of putting it," he said. "My department chair stole my research and destroyed my chances of renewing a grant, and so I destroyed his face. I told you I wasn't suited for academia. Besides, I prefer to let the objects from the past speak for themselves without mediation. History is such an inappropriately straightforward way of telling stories, wouldn't you agree? No one would ever mention the conversation you just had with the council member in a textbook, for instance."

Zelda refused to look away from his arrogant smirk. "I make no apologies for the way politicians go about their business. If you have objections, it's your responsibility to do something about it. You tell me that you find history distasteful, yet you lurk silently in your museum and judge other people for not putting the missing pieces together themselves. If you were less of a coward, you would find some means of saying something."

"Courage was never one of my virtues," he responded, narrowing his eyes, "but I will act when the time is right. The blows I strike will be decisive, and no political maneuvering will save your father."

Despite herself, Zelda was impressed by the strength underlying Ganondorf's words, which were so different than the soft and rounded prevarications of the men who had sought her attention all evening.

"What do you have against my father?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Do you even need to ask? The crimes of the past are still perpetuated into the present."

"That's a bold claim. You say you're a researcher. Where's your proof?"

"Let me ask you a question instead, Zelda. When you spoke to the parliamentary committee last week, how did it go? Did they seem in any way interested in the data you presented, or was the hearing merely perfunctory?"

Zelda was taken aback. "How did you know about that?"

Ganondorf shrugged. "It's a matter of public record, and one that I happen to follow very closely. Have I given you the impression that I say things without having considered all of the available information?"

"Well." Zelda took another sip of water, giving herself time to think. She had found herself in a tricky situation, but she had no patience for power games. It would best suit her purposes to have everything out in the open. If this conversation were going to go anywhere, she needed to know Ganondorf's intentions. "I suppose you've done your research on me as well," she prompted.

Ganondorf's shoulders relaxed slightly, and he shook his head. "I must admit that I was careless in that regard. Had I known who you were, I would never have invited you back here. If I had known, I would have..."

"You would have done what, exactly?" Zelda asked. She crossed her arms over her chest, emphasizing her challenge.

Ganondorf gritted his teeth. "I played my hand too soon. I didn't recognize your name, and I didn't think to dig into your background until it was already too late. This puts me in a difficult situation, but I... "

"You need to know that I am not my father."

"No, you're not." Ganondorf glared down at her. "But you can't deny the privilege you wield through your connection to him."

"I am. Not. My father," Zelda repeated, articulating every word. "Which is why I read through the file you gave me. I couldn't help getting the impression that you assembled it in haste, but I corroborated what I could. I wouldn't have gone through the trouble if I hadn't taken it seriously – and if I hadn't trusted that your intentions were honorable."

Ganondorf stood as still as one of the statues in the gallery at his back as he considered her silently.

"You don't talk like a politician," he finally said.

Zelda met his gaze. "I have no intention of becoming one. My business lies in facts, not convenient fabrications. Clearly you underestimate me."

"I do nothing of the sort," Ganondorf responded, "and I wouldn't have given that file to just anyone. It seems I made the right choice in thinking that I could trust you with it. It's a relief to hear that you took the material seriously."

"I don't see any other way that I could have taken it." She paused for a moment, then continued, "Perhaps this isn't the most appropriate response to that sort of information, but I must admit that I'm intrigued. If this evidence is leading where I think it is, you could be on to something earth-shattering."

"Earth-shattering, I like that." Ganondorf grinned. "Would you like to see something interesting, then?"

"See something? Where?"

"Down in the archives. There shouldn't be anyone else there at this time of night."

Zelda returned his grin, relieved to be back on even footing. "How do I know you aren't just scheming to get me alone?"

"Do you want to go back to that party?" he asked, holding his hand out for her glass.

"Not particularly," she answered, passing it to him. He drained it and then set it down on the circular stone bench surrounding the fountain.

"I was there too, you know," he told her as he began to walk toward a grand set of stairs on the other side of the rotunda. "The director of my department asked me to attend, but I would have gone anyway. I'd hoped for a chance to speak with you. It didn't present itself, obviously. You weren't alone for a single minute, not until you chose to leave. You say that you'll never be a politician, but I might dare to suggest otherwise."

Zelda nodded in acknowledgment of his comment as Ganondorf guided her around the cordons blocking access to the stairs leading down. Midna had told her the same thing on more than one occasion.

"You know, if I had been born a hundred years ago, I might have been a princess."

Ganondorf glanced at her over his shoulder. "How noble of you, to associate with someone common like myself."

"I don't think you're common at all."

He stopped and turned to face her. She was on a higher step, so her face was level with his. He seemed as if he were about to say something, and the thought that she should kiss him flickered through her mind. But no, that would be inappropriate. She looked away, embarrassed. He cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said simply, and then resumed climbing down the staircase.

At the bottom they came to a series of reinforced metal doors equipped with keypads. Ganondorf proceeded to the door directly in front of them on the landing and punched in the code. Zelda's cheeks turned red as she watched the deft movements of his fingers, remembering how they had felt on her face.

The door opened with a click, and Zelda returned to herself. "After you," Ganondorf said as he held the door open, and she was careful not to touch his body as she moved past him into the archives.


	4. We Will Be Remembered

As soon as Zelda stepped into the archives, the overhead lights flickered on. Unlike the soft illumination of the galleries above, the light cast by the fluorescent tubes running along the ceiling was harsh and had an eerie greenish tint. Only a few sections of the fixtures directly above them turned on, leaving the rest of the huge room in darkness. Tall shelves reached almost to the top of the high ceilings, casting sharp shadows down into the valleys between them. The air was dry and cool, and the space had an uncomfortable subterranean feeling. It was like a dungeon.

"It's not the most welcoming of places at night," Ganondorf said, "but there's no need to turn on all the lights, so I hope you'll bear with me. I have an auxiliary office in the back, and we'll need to go through the stacks."

"I sure hope you know where you're going," Zelda muttered, only half in jest. She was in her element at the gathering above, but down here she was completely lost. For the first time she felt a faint chill of fear in Ganondorf's presence. He had shown her nothing but courtesy and respect, but their conversation earlier demonstrated that there was a dark and unpleasant energy underlying his calm demeanor. She didn't want to think about what would happen if he presented her with some sort of outlandish theory. If she disagreed with him, or if she laughed at him, what would he do? She sensed that he had an enormous capacity for anger, and she didn't want him as her enemy. In this cavernous yet claustrophobic space, she would not be able to run from him.

 _But I would never run_ , she reminded herself. After all, he was just a man, and not even a man with enough political clout to harm her in any way. She had nothing to be afraid of, but a great deal to gain.

"You don't need to worry," Ganondorf said, breaking into her thoughts. "I've spent enough time down here to know my way around."

"Is this what you do for fun?" Zelda asked, trying to dispel her anxiety as he moved past her and began walking into the stacks.

"Actually, yes," he responded. "There are things down here that you wouldn't believe. Would you mind making a small detour to see something interesting?"

"It depends on what you mean by 'interesting.'"

"By 'interesting,' I mean something that we can't even begin to make heads or tails of," he said, winding his way between the shelves, which were loaded with bulging file folders and cardboard boxes. "There's nothing to be said for it, or about it, and you'd have to see it in action to appreciate what it does. I discovered it entirely by accident, and there was quite a mess to clean up afterward."

"What sort of mess?"

"Ah, here it is."

Ganondorf nudged a large wooden box from the bottom shelf to his left onto the floor with his toe and then knelt down next to it. What he removed from the box was a large bullet-shaped canister made of tarnished metal. Ganondorf inserted his right hand into an opening in the flat end of the object and then pivoted on his ankles to face the corridor between the stacks, a tunnel that ended in shadow.

"Can you see over my back?" he asked.

"I'm not that short." Zelda watched him steady his right elbow with his left hand. The round end of the device was perfectly smooth, but it seemed almost as if he were aiming a crossbow. "Not to be rude," she said, "but you're not going to shoot anything, are you?"

Ganondorf looked up at her over his shoulder and grinned. "Just watch," he said. "On three, two, one..."

There was a slight metallic clank, and then a thick silver wire burst out of the device and jetted between the bookcases, followed shortly by a heavy thunk.

"It seems I've caught something," Ganondorf muttered. He twitched his hand, and the line of silver retracted rapidly, pulling a canvas mail cart along with it. The cart slid across the floor in a perfectly straight line, sheets of paper flying in its wake. Zelda barely had time to brace herself for impact before Ganondorf raised his left hand and caught it, only rocking back on his feet a little when its frame struck his open palm.

Zelda exhaled and took a moment to appreciate the curve of his arm and shoulder before asking, "What is that thing?"

"According to the acquisition notes, it's called a 'hookshot.' This is the hook," he explained, removing the twin curved blades at the end of the wire from the canvas cart and holding them up for Zelda to see, "and you just witnessed the shot. It's an incredible device, and I have no idea how it works, or even how to take it apart without smashing the casing."

He retracted the rest of the wire into the base and then stood. "And here's the most incredible thing," he continued, removing the hookshot from his arm and offering it to Zelda.

She took it from him and was amazed to find that it weighed practically nothing.

"It's as light as a feather!" she exclaimed, tossing it up and catching it.

"There's no kickback, either. The casing somehow absorbs it. I've put in requests to have it analyzed by offsite materials experts, but I've been told that it's a waste of our resources. We could never display it, since we simply don't know enough about it. Its provenance is a complete mystery. All I know is that it entered our possession roughly a hundred years ago, after the second earthquake. I've compared the paperwork with that of some of the other items in our collection, and based on the dates and handwriting I want to say that it was one of the gifts that the royal family bequeathed to the museum when the monarchy was dissolved and the castle was repurposed. But who can tell? No one here knows anything about it."

"If it comes from the royal family, I'm surprised that it hasn't been given more attention," Zelda remarked, thinking of her father's pride in his antiques as she handed the hookshot back to Ganondorf.

"I was surprised as well. After coming across more things exactly like this, I can't help but think that it's precisely because it came from the royal family that it hasn't received more attention," Ganondorf said as he bent down to place the device back in its box.

"More things like this? Such as what, exactly?"

"A number of objects that aren't quite tools or weapons, and whose purpose we can't ascertain. Things we don't have the science or technology to explain. Things that must be far older than our records indicate. As well as things that we have no records of at all. It's one of these objects with no documentation that I wanted to show you."

Zelda's vague sense of anxiety had vanished and been replaced by an overwhelming curiosity. "I'm game," she said, smiling.

"Excellent." He returned her smile, but it seemed forced, and he didn't move. "Could you..." he finally said, pointing in her direction.

"Oh. Right." Embarrassed, Zelda stepped to the side. As Ganondorf brushed past her, she caught the scent of his cologne. She wondered if he would take her hand and was disappointed when he didn't. To calm herself, she made small talk as he led her through the labyrinth of fluorescent-lit shelves and boxes and crates and stacks of yellowing paper.

After a minute or two they arrived at another metal door, which Ganondorf opened with a keycard. "Come on in," he said, stepping inside and turning on a lamp adorned with a stained glass shade. Unlike his office above the galleries, this room was spacious, and it was filled with beautiful things. The desk was mahogany, as were the shelves lining the walls, which were filled with old books. A couch that seemed relatively new was free of the mess of loose papers and file folders that covered the other available surfaces in the room, so Zelda walked over to it and sat down.

"The archives are expansive, and we're continually understaffed," Ganondorf said. "We get a few researchers who apply for permission to do work here, but not as many as you might expect. People don't enjoy spending time down here for obvious reasons, but I don't mind it. No one bothers me or questions what I'm doing, so I've managed to dig up some interesting things." He cleared away some of the jumble on his desk and picked up a large folio with a dark tan manila cover.

"Take a look at this," he said, passing it to her before moving to the other side of the desk to open one of the drawers.

Zelda set the folio on her lap and began flipping through it. Old monochromatic pictographs were mounted on the stiff sheets inside. They depicted women who Zelda assumed were Gerudo based on the jeweled ornaments on their foreheads. The practice of wearing the small tiaras that supported these ornaments had fallen out of practice almost a century ago for reasons with which Zelda was unfamiliar. Knowing what she did now, she suspected that these reasons were more than likely political.

"Is this the property of the museum, or is it yours?" Zelda asked, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

"It was one of my mothers' albums," he answered. "Here, this is what I wanted to show you."

He sat down on the couch next to her and presented her with a black lacquer box. She closed the folio and placed the box on its cover. When she removed the lid, she revealed a large topaz stone set into an intricate bronze base.

"This doesn't look like something that would fit the sort of tiaras in these pictographs," Zelda said.

"It's the centerpiece of the crown that would have once been worn by a Gerudo male. If it hadn't found its way to this museum, it might have even been mine."

"It's... beautiful," Zelda said, concerned about the direction the conversation was heading.

"It rightfully belongs to my family," Ganondorf continued, his voice measured and even, as if he were merely making an observation. "It must have been stolen or otherwise appropriated."

"I sympathize with how much this must upset you," Zelda said, "but I have to ask. As unlikely as this scenario may be, how do you know it was not sold, or even donated?"

Ganondorf took her question in stride. "This particular piece has no documents associated with it, but the records for most of the headstones in the museum's possession were obviously created with the intention of disguising their provenance. The pertinent information, such as the point of origin and the original owner, is nothing but nonsense, places that are not places and names that are not names. The writing would seem legitimate at a glance, but to someone familiar with Gerudo words it has no meaning. This cannot have been mere carelessness."

Zelda found herself unable to look at him. She continued gazing at the topaz ornament. For some reason it seemed familiar to her, like the lyrics of a song she would be able to remember if only someone hummed the tune. "What do you think happened?" she asked.

"I don't know. All that I've been able to find is that the Gerudo were blamed for both earthquakes and driven out of their homes. If I could understand why this happened, perhaps it would lead me to an answer."

Zelda considered the situation. This was exactly like the records of Goron migrant workers that had given her so much trouble, and like the Deku shield whose dating could not be explained. Something terrible must have happened, and then it had been aggressively forgotten. Perhaps her own family had benefitted from this, but others – many others – had obviously suffered. She was intrigued by the theoretical implications of the mystery, but the concrete evidence of injustice sparked something inside her. When she was in her comfortable apartment looking at photocopies with Midna, she could intellectualize the issue. Now that Ganondorf was sitting beside her, it no longer seemed abstract, but of utmost urgency.

She summoned her courage and looked up at him. "There must be an answer. What can I do to help you find it?"

Ganondorf frowned. "Why would you want to help?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because this is what your people have done – turned mine into something that belongs in a museum. The history has been preserved, but the individuals have been lost. These objects once represented life, but now they're nothing more than artifacts. This museum is a gravestone on top of a tomb, a mausoleum filled with dead and forgotten things."

Zelda set the lid back onto the lacquer box, taking time to think before she responded. "If that's how you feel, then why do you stay here?" she asked gently, offering the folio and box to Ganondorf.

Ganondorf took them from her and stood up. "This is my work, collecting evidence until I have enough ammunition to stage an attack. Exposing this will not be easy, and I will need all the power I can lay my hands on," he replied, placing the box and folio on top of his desk.

"Then why do you work alone?"

Ganondorf barked bitter laughter. "Would anyone listen to me?"

"Do you think anyone listens to me? I'm a politician's daughter, bred to be 'nice.' I've always been 'the princess,' someone who looks pretty but is never taken seriously."

"Don't expect me to feel sorry for you."

"Then why did you talk to me? Why did you invite me to your office? Why bring me down here? Everyone wants something from me, I'm used to it. Don't you want something from me too?"

Ganondorf grimaced. "That's not why I spoke with you. I didn't know who you were, I swear it."

Zelda waited for him to say something else, but he seemed to be waiting for her as well. "No, that's fine," she finally responded, disappointed. "You can use me. I want you to use me."

Their eyes met, and they regarded each other carefully. Here they both were, surrounded by the mistakes of their ancestors. Zelda's mind was flooded with possibilities. If they had lived in the past, what would their roles have been? Would they have been able to find a chance to talk like this? Would they have still been drawn to each other?

"The past is dead, but we're still alive," she said.

"I don't feel alive, sometimes, surrounded by all of this," Ganondorf said, sitting down on the couch again. "It's so much larger than I am, and it's so heavy, so heavy that it's hard to move."

He leaned back and closed his eyes. Zelda studied his face, the line of his nose, the curve of his cheekbones, the flare of his beard along his chin. She thought of what a waste it was for this man to sit alone in this room, his anger growing as he waited, sealed underground in the darkness.

"Let me help you, Ganondorf," she said, laying a hand on his thigh.

She watched his face as it relaxed, the lines around his eyes and mouth smoothing out. He opened his eyes and looked at her appraisingly. "No one has ever offered to help me before. I don't think you know what words like that can do to me."

"And I don't think you know what initiating me into the mystery of a lifetime can do to me."

"Are you sure you want this on your hands? It might be risky for someone in your position."

"Well then..." Zelda leaned forward. "Why don't you tell me what my position is so I can know where to put my hands?"

Ganondorf raised his eyebrows. "Are you trying to come onto me?"

"You're right," Zelda said, grinning. "Maybe we should continue this conversation in a place where we aren't entirely alone, a place where you don't show me treasures and tell me secrets. Maybe we should arrange a coffee date, keep things professional."

"Zelda." Ganondorf took her hand and said her name so slowly that it was almost a growl. "My interest isn't strictly professional. I hope you know that by now. It makes no sense to show you these things; I know what your connections are capable of doing to me. But I couldn't help myself, I couldn't leave you alone."

"What would you have done if I hadn't been at the party tonight?"

"I knew you would come. Something is pulling us together, you must feel it too." He placed his hand on the thin silk of the dress over her heart, and something inside her begin to shine.

She covered his hand with hers. "When we first met, you said it must be fate. I think, given what we're both doing, we'd have crossed paths eventually. What are the chances that we'd find each other like this? It would have been so easy for us to become enemies, but..."

"Zelda..." he whispered as he reached for her. She allowed him to pull her closer, and then he began kissing her, his lips leaving a trail of fire across her face and neck. She felt herself melting into him, and she ran her fingers along his beard, guiding his mouth to hers. He held her shoulders tightly, but she took his hand and placed it over her breast. He began stroking her nipple, the pressure of his thumb and the texture of her dress creating a delicious friction. He slipped his hand under the fabric, and the sensation of his fingers on her bare skin caused Zelda to shiver with delight. This had all happened so quickly, but the feeling was so intense, and she was powerless to resist the attraction she felt for him. She reached down and touched him, gliding her palm along the thick length that jutted from the trousers of his suit.

Ganondorf groaned into her mouth and broke the kiss. He cupped her cheek in his hand and looked at her, breathing heavily. There was lust plainly written on his face, but it was more than just that. It was as if he had been wandering in the desert and suddenly come upon water. The fierce gleam in his eyes spoke of desperate thirst.

Had anyone ever looked at her like this? She had no time or patience for affairs. Truth be told, she found dating tedious and inane. It was almost surreal to find herself here with this huge man beside her, his golden eyes blazing, looking at her as if he could barely contain himself.

"Gods, but I want you," he confessed.

The need apparent in his deep voice sent a jolt of electricity through her body. "Then kiss me again," she commanded.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid that I'll hurt you, that I won't be able to stop if I keep going. You don't know what you do to me, Zelda."

"Then tell me. Tell me what I do to you," she urged, clutching him tighter and pressing her thumb against the tip of his cock. "I'm so sick of playing games. Tell me what you want."

Ganondorf leaned forward and kissed her neck. "I can't stop thinking about you," he breathed into her ear. "I want what you have, and I want what you are. I want your birthright, and I want your privilege. I want your power, Zelda." He twisted her nipple, and she couldn't help moaning at the sudden burst of pleasure.

He kissed her ear and then touched his forehead against hers. He took both of her hands in his and moved them to the sides of his face. The edges of his beard were soft under her fingertips.

"But mostly I want you," he continued, his voice low. "I've never met anyone like you. I've never met anyone with a mind that works like yours. I've never met anyone with such a hard edge. And yet I feel like I know you, that I've always known you. When I'm with you I feel like I'm being pulled into something much larger than myself."

Ganondorf's words caused a warm glow to spread through Zelda's chest. "Isn't that what you want?" she whispered. "Isn't that what we both want? To take control of something larger than ourselves? To be remembered, when so much has been forgotten?"

Ganondorf's his face relaxed. In that moment she could see who he was underneath all of this, underneath the anger and the darkness and the endless injustice of history. He kissed her gently, and it was as soft and sweet as light itself.

"I think," Ganondorf said, sitting back and lifting his hands from hers, "that I'm reaching the limits of what I can endure as a man. Let's get out of here."

Zelda nodded and then stood. "You know, we haven't actually been down here for that long, maybe an hour at most," she said, smoothing the front of her dress and readjusting the straps at her shoulders. "The event upstairs is more than likely just breaking up. If we leave now, everyone will see us together. Are you prepared for that?"

"Absolutely." Ganondorf flashed his teeth in a grin and rose to stand beside Zelda.

She glanced down at his waist. "Are you sure you want to go out like this?"

"Those fluorescents will kill my mood. But don't you worry. Now that I've got you in my clutches, I have plans for what I'll do to you later."

He seemed animated by fresh burst of energy, a small tremor that might one day become an earthquake. This excited Zelda more than she was willing to admit. She bit her lip and murmured, "First we have to make it back out of the archives alive. What's in all those boxes, anyway?"

"Mostly shattered pottery shards, if you can believe it." He shook his head. "It's pathetic to think that's all the past is, in the end."

"I don't think so. I'm starting to get the feeling that history will remember us."

Ganondorf opened the office door and held his hand out to Zelda. "Are you ready to change history, then?" he asked her, his eyes shining.

"Let's do it." Zelda smiled and took his hand.


End file.
